


Watching Over Me

by toesalignedarch



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ethari is just trying to cuddle his partner is that too much to ask, In the Dark, M/M, Runaan attempts blacksmithing, Runaan is just very dedicated to showing Ethari that he loves him, a dash of light angst, background Tiadrin/Lain, it doesn't go well, protective Runaan, slightly oblivious Ethari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 04:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesalignedarch/pseuds/toesalignedarch
Summary: Runaan huffs and crosses his arms. “Fine,” he says in a tone that is definitively not fine. He’s watching a tan Sunfire elf who approaches Ethari with a shy smile. The elf offers the smith an enchanted sun forged blade and says something that makes Ethari blush lightly and laugh. Ethari gestures at the brilliant gold stitching glistening on the elf’s cloak, and the Sunfire elf’s smile only grows wider. Apparently this random elf owns the metal booth, because before long he and Ethari are engrossed in lively conversation that involves (on the Sunfire elf’s part, mostly) a lot of reaching over the other to pick up a sample of ore.  Runaan doesn’t like what he’s seeing and keeps a watchful eye on the pair. “But if anything happens to him—“He cuts off abruptly when the Sunfire elf runs a finger down Ethari’s exposed bicep.“Runaan? You stopped talking,” Tiadrin says. She’s looking at him like he’s had a little too much moonberry wine.“No one plans a murder out loud, Tiadrin,” he murmurs calmly. His mind is racing. He has so many ideas.(or, the story of how Runaan visits a marketplace and gets 3 new burns and 1 new husband out of it)
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince), Runaan/Ethari
Comments: 14
Kudos: 219





	Watching Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a bunch of different Tumblr prompts because I'm indecisive!

Runaan thought it would be a good idea. But now, staring at the crowded marketplace that was surely hiding something sinister within its rows of colorful tents, he isn’t so sure.

“Come on Runaan,” Tiadrin says with a groan. “Can’t you get it through that thick head of yours? No one’s going to ambush us in a market!”

“That is exactly the kind of arrogance that costs lives,” Runaan hisses back. His turquoise eyes are darting around from stall to stall, trying to determine which vendor is hiding a dagger under their billowy cloaks. “You can go ahead, Tiadrin, for I won’t blame myself if you get hurt. But I cannot—and I _will_ not—let Ethari walk into a situation defenseless!“

“Are you insinuating that I can’t defend myself?” asks Ethari curiously. He walks up behind his partner and stands with his hands on his hips, waiting for a response.

Somehow, despite Ethari being twice as bulky (his muscles extra defined in his sleeveless top), Runaan still manages a haughty sniff. “I’m merely suggesting that your lack of experience in high-speed close-quarter combat may result in an unwanted injury.”

Tiadrin snorts. “In normal elf words, he’s calling you defenseless,” she clarifies redundantly.

“Yes, thank you Tiadrin,” Ethari says good-naturedly. “I figured as much.” He chuckles and drops a quick kiss on his partner’s forehead. “I just need some supplies for the smithy and some projects I’m working on. I’ll be fine, Runaan. I’m sure you’ll be there to protect me from any hungry banthers.”

Runaan sputters, much to Tiadrin’s delight, but before he can insist that _I can’t always protect you, Ethari, because you keep wandering off without me_ , Ethari grabs him with one hand and Tiadrin with the other and pulls them into the crowd.

His senses are immediately assaulted with the scent of berries (some of which he recognizes as medicinal, and others of which he knows are delicious), the sounds of haggling, and the scratching of rough outerwear on his skin as Ethari drags them around. The street is usually wide enough to accommodate two full-grown banthers walking side by side (it’s a long story, don’t ask) but today it’s nearly impossible for Ethari to maintain his grip on the assassin with the speed at which he’s dashing from vendor to vendor.

“Runaan, _look_ ,” Ethari gasps, releasing his hold on the from of Runaan’s tunic and pointing across the street. He rushes towards a stall that’s selling semi-precious stones, his broad shoulders easily clearing a path in the densely packed crowd. Runaan, on the other hand, struggles to keep up as his lithe frame is buffeted back and forth between wayward pedestrians. Beside him, Tiadrin is laughing behind her hand, somehow gracefully dodging incoming traffic.

“You’re no help,” he growls when a particularly enthusiastic Skywing elf clips the corner of his eye with the tips of her wings. _Come on_ , he wants to yell at her retreating figure, I _was just one step away_! But she's absorbed by the mass of bodies and he can't bring himself to yell at someone who wasn't there anymore. At last, he approaches the rock vendor. Ethari is speaking to the owner, a young Earthblood elf, whose antler-like horns are decorated with vines and blossoms that glide around as she eagerly showing off her wares. He overhears something about “dug them up myself” and “all natural” and decides he doesn’t care enough about rocks to get any closer. Instead, he hovers at the edge of the tent, busying himself by examining a tray of polished amber stones.

He has to resist the urge to draw his bowblade when Ethari bounces back to the other side of the street.

“You need to loosen up,” Tiadrin says. “Ethari’s fine. I can see him and he’s just very excited about what seems to be slabs of metal. No, actually, I think it _is_ just a slab of metal.” When she sees Runaan open his mouth to retort, she quickly adds, “plus you seem to have missed the fact that your beloved is built like a fortress. I think I just watched someone walk into him and ricochet off.”

Runaan huffs and crosses his arms. “Fine,” he says in a tone that is definitively not fine. He’s watching a tan Sunfire elf who approaches Ethari with a shy smile. The elf offers the smith an enchanted sun forged blade and says something that makes Ethari blush lightly and laugh. Ethari gestures at the brilliant gold stitching glistening on the elf’s cloak, and the Sunfire elf’s smile only grows wider. Apparently this random elf owns the metal booth, because before long he and Ethari are engrossed in lively conversation that involves (on the Sunfire elf’s part, mostly) a lot of reaching over the other to pick up a sample of ore. Runaan doesn’t like what he’s seeing and keeps a watchful eye on the pair. “But if anything happens to him—“

He cuts off abruptly when the Sunfire elf runs a finger down Ethari’s exposed bicep.

“Runaan? You stopped talking,” Tiadrin says. She’s looking at him like he’s had a little too much moonberry wine.

“No one plans a murder out loud, Tiadrin,” he murmurs calmly. His mind is racing. He has so many ideas.

“What?” Now she’s looking at him like he’s had way too much moonberry wine. And maybe sprouted an extra horn.

“Nothing. None of your concern.” His voice is even and measured. “Tiadrin, please escort Ethari away from that vendor before he makes a choice he’s bound to regret.”

Ignoring Tiadrin’s onslaught of questions—“wait, what? Where? Before who makes a choice?”—he walks away. This time, the crowd gives him a wide berth. After all, who wants to be the one to accidentally bump into an assassin with _that_ look on his face?

***

When he gets back to the Silvergrove the first elf he runs into is Lain, who’s sitting precariously on the slender end a tree branch.

“Hey Runaan,” he calls cheerfully. Then he takes a closer look at his friend’s face and grimaces. With a graceful leap (and a mid-air somersault), Lain descends and lands on his feet with barely a rustle of grass. “What happened? Where are Tiadrin and Ethari?” 

“They’ll be returning shortly.” 

Lain has to jog to keep up with Runaan’s determined strides. “Why aren’t they with you?” 

“Something came up.” 

“Okay,” Lain says slowly. When Runaan doesn’t expand, he asks, “where are you going now?” 

“I have something I need to attend to. Rather urgently.” 

“Do you need help?” 

“No.” Runaan’s about to tell Lain to leave him alone when a spare thought floats by. “Actually,” he says, grabbing Lain by the arm and pulling him close so he can speak quietly. “Could you keep an eye out for Ethari?” He digs around in his tunic with his free hand until he finds a communicator, a smooth orb that Ethari had enchanted for helping assassins stay in touch. “When you see him, use the spell ‘ _moneo_ ’ and I’ll know he’s coming.” 

Lain blinks at the silver orb in his hand. “Isn’t this for assassins only?” 

“Yes. But I, Runaan of the Moonshadow Assassins, give you permission to use one communicator for the duration of my task.” 

With a shrug, Lain pockets the orb; he was never one to say no to some fancy new technology. “So what exactly is your task, then? I’m guessing it’s not officially sanctioned as a mission?” 

Runaan gives him a sideways glare and keeps walking. Lain stumbles in his haste to catch up.

“I only need a few items from the smithy,” Runaan announces once his destination comes into view.

“You’re sneaking into the forge?” Lain gives him a look like he’s left his home without his pants. “Runaan, you do know that your beloved works there, right? Like, he's in there all the time?” 

Runaan scoffs. “Of course. That’s exactly why I need to go right now.” He stops walking and gazes up at one of the smithy’s open windows. There were no sounds coming from inside the forge so Runaan nods at Lain, who obediently turns around to act as a lookout (though he continues to ask questions the entire time, which Runaan dutifully ignores), and jumps through the window frame. 

*** 

“I think someone’s been in the forge,” Ethari says. 

“Hm.” Runaan is too busy trying to hide his burn to really care about Ethari’s small talk, but he does look up when Ethari stops talking and gives him a strange look. 

“You’re not going to tell me to arm myself in case someone tries to steal from the forge again?” 

“No,” Runaan says smoothly. He doesn’t want to alert Ethari that someone has indeed been in the forge and the last thing he needs is for his project to be delayed by a fight with the one elf he would actually go easy (well, easier) on. 

“Huh.” Ethari sets down his cup and examines Runaan’s face with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, moonlight?” 

“Should I not be?” Runaan grabs his own cup with his left hand and takes a sip, hoping the movement will distract his partner from the fact that a giant blister is forming on his right forearm (not to mention the various little cuts, scrapes, and bruises he’s acquired over the past few days). How Ethari, an elf nearly twice as wide, can maneuver around the forge and come out in pristine condition is beyond him. 

Ethari responds hesitantly. “Usually you’d go on about how I’m not as observant when it comes to potential dangers, and that I get so engrossed in my work that I wouldn’t even notice someone sneaking up behind me.” 

“Well.” Runaan clears his throat. “You’re perfectly capable of defending yourself.” 

Ethari looks pleased, though a little confused, and drops the subject. 

*** 

He’s so tired when he finally returns home that he forgets to catch the front door before it slams back into place. Runaan groans quietly as he watches the handle swing out of his reach; between working in the forge at night and training throughout the day, he’s barely had any time to rest. The resulting bang isn’t too loud if they forget to catch it during the day, but Ethari’s a relatively light sleeper. 

“Runaan?” 

The door to their bedroom opens and Ethari emerges with sleepy eyes and tousled hair. The sight of his partner in this disheveled state is enough to bring a smile to his lips and a light blush to his cheeks; it reminds him of how long it’s been since he’s been able to fall asleep with Ethari in his arms. He lets his illusion drop but Ethari doesn’t even blink when he pops into existence.

“Sorry for waking you, moonlight.”

“It’s fine.” Ethari stifles a yawn. “Why were you out so late?” 

“Training,” Runaan replies, and he’s thankful that this time he can actually answer the question truthfully. 

Ethari frowns. “This late?” 

“Never hurts to train while trying to maintain our illusions.” He wipes the dirt from the bottom of his boots and walks towards the bedroom. Ethari moves aside so he can get through the door. 

“I don’t get it,” the smith says. “Training in the dark while you’re all invisible. If I were you, I would sit in a tree and watch everyone else figure it out.” 

“If only,” Runaan says with a twitch of his lips. “If you’re good enough, you can sense someone even if you can't see them.” 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ethari says, and he starts to unbuckle the armor that Runaan is still wearing. When all the pieces are piled neatly in the corner of the room, leaving Runaan shivering slightly in only his most basic layers, Ethari wraps his arms around him. Runaan melts into the touch but Ethari stiffens. “Why do you smell like medicine? Are you hurt?” 

It takes Runaan’s sleep deprived brain a few seconds to come up with a response. Technically yes, though he hadn’t meant to scald his thigh on a pair of tongs (who knew that tongs could get so hot just from holding a vat of molten metal? Also, how was he supposed to keep track of so many tiny glowing hot tools at once?) but he couldn’t let Ethari know that. Instead, he says, “someone was lucky with their blade tonight.” 

Ethari lifts his head abruptly from Runaan’s shoulder and stares into his partner’s eyes. “Someone actually got you? _You?_ ” 

Runaan shifts uncomfortably. He’s not a bad liar (in fact, he’s a rather good one) but he hates lying to Ethari almost as much as he hates strangers touching his hair. “Well,” he backtracks. “It was more a mistake on my part than an intentional success on their part.” 

With a sigh, Ethari lays his head back on Runaan’s shoulders and they sway lightly in the middle of the bedroom. “You need to get more sleep, my love,” Ethari whispers into his neck. Runaan huffs a quiet laugh into Ethari’s hair.

“I’m not a human,” he says liltingly. “I don’t need sleep.” 

“You do if it means you’ll make it back to me in one piece,” Ethari insists. 

“I’m merely teasing, my love,” he says, and moves a hand reassuringly across Ethari’s broad back. His partner hums and presses a gentle kiss to the spot where Runaan’s neck meets his shoulder.

“I barely see you anymore,” Ethari says, breaking away and letting his hands run down Runaan’s arms. Runaan swallows thickly and thanks the Moon that the burn on his right forearm has mostly healed (the only indication that he had ever been hurt was a bit of discoloration, but Ethari couldn’t see that in the dark). “I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, and I don’t feel your arms around me.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Runaan mutters hesitantly.

“Clearly,” Ethari says. His voice is only a little bitter. “Remember when I found you asleep at your desk last week?” 

Runaan rolls his eyes and leads his partner to their bed. The spot where Ethari was sleeping is still warm to the touch and it comforts him immensely. Next to him, Ethari slides under the blankets and props his head up against his arm. Even with his eyes closed, Runaan can sense his partner’s gaze on his face. A rustle of cloth is the only warning he gets before a hand is resting along the side of the curve of his jaw, a thumb lovingly tracing the marks that stretch across his nose. “I miss us,” he hears Ethari whisper. 

_Me too_ , Runaan wants to say. He’s almost done, he’s so close, he’s sure it’ll only be another two weeks before he can consistently fall asleep with his love in his arms. But the caresses are too rhythmic and the scent of Ethari lingering on the pillow so familiar, that he’s asleep before he can open his mouth. 

*** 

It does not, in fact, take another two weeks. Or two weeks and a day. Or two weeks and two days, and three days, and four days. Runaan has been in a sour mood for the past two and a half weeks because this project is taking so much longer than he anticipated, and the stress of doing something he doesn’t usually do, the toll of keeping it from Ethari, and (perhaps most importantly) the lack of sleep are adding up. He threatens a trainee for bumping into him when in reality he accidentally walked into her; he’s so aggressive in braiding his hair one morning that he unknowingly gets the corner of Ethari’s scarf intertwined somewhere in the middle of it and it takes them both a couple of minutes to untangle the purple cloth from the snow white hair. When Ethari tries to ask him what’s got him so worked up, he merely scowls and leaves, muttering yet another fake excuse. 

He's in the bedroom looking for something that he knows he put in there, but he can’t remember exactly where. The downside of trying to hide a labor intensive task from his partner was that while his memory still worked on a general level, little details were starting to escape him. Runaan checks under his pillow to no avail. There’s a fleeting thought that maybe Ethari found it and moved it—Runaan hasn’t spent much time at home at all so this is entirely feasible—but no, Ethari would have asked him about it. There were practically no secrets between them, Runaan muses, entirely aware of the irony. Runaan rifles through their closet, feeling the pockets of all the cloaks he’s worn since that day at the market, and he’s working through one of the drawers in the corner of the room, silently cursing whichever cloud decided to cover up the sunlight, when Ethari enters. Startled, Runaan slams the drawer shut and stands up so fast he knows instantly he’s overdone it. His partner blinks at him slowly, an eyebrow arching upward. 

“Ethari,” Runaan gasps. A glance out the window shows that he's lost track of time; the sun is setting and casting a warm orange glow all throughout the Silvergrove as the last rays of bright sunlight shrink back behind the tree line. Huh, no wonder it was getting difficult to see.

“What are you doing?” Ethari asks, closing the bedroom door behind him. 

Runaan has to forcibly keep his tone light. “Looking for something.” Ethari’s one raised eyebrow creeps even higher. Runaan is well aware that the burn on the back of his hand is fully visible (it hurt but he figures the pain isn't worth losing the mobility of an entire hand), and wracks his brain for something that will distract his partner from noticing it. “You haven’t seen a black pouch in here, have you?” 

“No,” Ethari says, and he comes up next to Runaan. He’s reaching for another drawer when it suddenly dawns on Runaan that if Ethari does find it, surely he’ll want to know what it’s for and why Runaan is so keen to have it. So, he steps in front of the entire stack of drawers, effectively blocking off Ethari’s access to any of them. 

“It’s fine, I can look on my own,” he says quickly when Ethari looks at him. He winces when he recognizes a flash of hurt in Ethari’s eyes, but his dedication to the secrecy of his mission is too strong for him to back down. He expects Ethari to ask more questions, and he’s bracing himself for them, but Ethari just sighs and walks to his side of the bed. As he sits and drops his head to his hands, Runaan notes distractedly that his own side is barely touched, the wrinkles in the blanket and creases on the pillows stopping almost exactly halfway across the bed. 

“Runaan, is this about that Sunfire elf from the market?” Ethari sounds so weary that Runaan is startled out of his sour mood. 

“What?” 

“I’m not as unobservant as you might think I am,” Ethari says with a sad smile. “You’ve been distant ever since you sent Tiadrin to watch me and accompany home.” The elf sighs and chews on his lip for a while. “He was only trying to sell me his wares, you can’t blame a vendor for trying to earn a living.” 

His sour mood returns with a vengeance. Moon have mercy, he had so much left to do, and so little time. “He was flirting with you, Ethari,” Runaan says flatly. “He touched your arms.” 

“That’s…” Ethari frowns. “Oh,” he says, like he’s just realizing the Sunfire elf doesn’t touch every customer’s bicep as one of his marketing techniques. “Runaan, I didn’t know. I wasn’t trying to return his attention, I just wanted to admire his craftsmanship. I would never to that to you.” 

“I know.” And it jolts him, a little bit, to realize how much he trusts Ethari with his heart. 

“Then what did I do, moonlight?” 

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Runaan says earnestly. It’s the truth, and he hopes that Ethari can understand that. 

“Have you been punishing me for something else?” 

Runaan stares at his partner, absolutely perplexed. “Ethari, what do you mean?” 

The smith huffs and crosses his arms. “You don’t sleep with me anymore. Every morning I wake up and you’re asleep at our kitchen table,” the elf recounts. He’s holding up a finger for each new point he brings up. “You won’t tell me what you’re doing even though we promised each other to communicate honestly, even about the missions you’re sent on. You’ve been avoiding me during the day as well, don’t pretend you haven’t been! I’ve seen Lain acting as a lookout for you with the communicator I enchanted specifically for assassins which, I shouldn’t have to remind you, Lain is not.” Ethari’s voice starts to tremble when he whispers, “and… you smell different, Runaan. You smell like medicinal herbs when I know you haven’t been on a mission in a few weeks and shouldn’t have any injuries, so the only conclusion I have is that you’re purposefully trying to cover up another scent.” 

Oh. Runaan’s heart sinks with every finger Ethari lifts. When his entire hand is pointing to the moon above them, it finally hits him. He’s been so focused on his secret task that he’s been neglecting the one elf he’s trying to impress. Moon have mercy, poor Ethari. He quickly steps and drops to both his knees at the foot of the bed where Ethari is sitting dejectedly, and places his hands on his partner’s thighs. 

“My love,” he says softly, trying to get Ethari to meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry, I hadn’t meant for it to come to this.” 

Ethari’s lips part subconsciously, and when he finally lifts his head Runaan is pained to see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. “No,” he whispers, and he sounds so broken that Runaan’s heart shatters. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, this is not it,” Runaan says forcefully. He tries to take Ethari’s hands and there’s the briefest moment where he thinks Ethari won’t let him, but in the end he wins and he squeezes them tenderly. “You own my heart, you know that, don’t you? I know you would never hurt me like that and if that elf chose to flirt with you that’s his own fault, not yours.” He rubs the back of Ethari’s hands. “I’m lucky to have you. I only wanted to… I was just trying…” Runaan huffs in frustration when his words don’t turn out the way he wants them to; after a few moments of silence he tries a different route. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you, and I should have seen it. I was selfish, and blinded by this project, and—” 

For the first time in several minutes Ethari moves. “Project?” he asks, his voice thick. 

Runaan nods. “I had an idea for something that would stop anyone from ever approaching you like that again,” he says, and he’s proud of how little his voice shakes with nerves. 

“What project?” Ethari asks. Runaan recognizes his partner’s blank expression as one of polite disinterest, and knows that Ethari is trying so hard to maintain his composure. 

“It might be easier if I show you,” Runaan says. “Take a walk with me?” 

***

Up until this moment, Runaan has never imagined a stroll with his beloved under the moonlight would be so awkward and stilted. He’s nearly run out of words to say, though, and he fears that if he keeps talking he’ll only make things worse for Ethari. So he walks in silence and Ethari follows wordlessly. Runaan doesn’t blame him for not talking, but it’s eerie being around Ethari without his constant commentary on the scenery. 

Ethari halts in his steps when he recognizes the path they’re on, spraying pebbles around him. “Wait,” he says slowly. 

“Moonlight?” 

“You were the one who broke into the forge?” 

“Well—” 

“No,” Ethari gasps, and on a different day Runaan would have laughed at how dramatic and theatrical he is. He stares at Runaan, incredulous. “You haven’t…” He stares at Runaan some more, his expression morphing into disbelief. “You wouldn’t…” And now he looks incredulous, disbelieving, _and_ a little bit terrified, and Runaan decides that whatever’s going on in his head needs to stop immediately. 

“Ethari, what are you thinking?” 

“You haven’t been using my forge to create a murder weapon, have you?” Ethari blurts, his wide eyes tracking Runaan’s every move and reaction. 

Runaan, to his credit, maintains some level of rationality. “I _what_ now?” 

“Oh, Moon have mercy,” Ethari whimpers. He’s pacing back and forth, hands cupping the back of his head as he stares at the moon. “When Tiadrin said you said something about murder I thought she was joking! But if you’ve been—” He suddenly rushes to Runaan’s side and grabs both of his hands. “Runaan, just because you do it professionally doesn’t mean you can kill someone even if you don’t agree with his actions!” 

Runaan's so confused he can only laugh. “Ethari, what are you going on about? Who am I trying to murder?” 

“The Sunfire elf from the market,” Ethari says impatiently, like he can’t believe Runaan would forget his own victim. “Lain told Tiadrin that you came back from the market alone and went somewhere that he wasn't allowed to say or tell anyone”—Runaan makes a mental note to accidentally cut off Lain’s beloved braid the next time they sparred—“and that you wouldn’t tell anyone what you were working on. She said he said you looked like you were on a mission!” 

When Runaan doesn’t immediately respond, Ethari shakes him. “That means you looked like you were ready to kill,” Ethari interprets. “You said you had an idea for how to stop anyone else from ever flirting with me, right? And your brilliant plan was to make an example out of him by _killing him_?” 

Oh. Things are starting to clear up, and Runaan can’t help but chuckle even though he knows it’ll drive Ethari mad. “My love, if I were planning on murdering this Sunfire elf for flirting with you, why would I tell Tiadrin, the most talkative elf we know? And why would I let Lain in on my plan when we both know he tells everything to his wife?” 

Ethari sputters for a second. “I don’t know,” he finally gets out. His shoulders sag and he lets go of Runaan’s hands. “I don’t know,” he repeats in a deflated tone. “Things have been so different lately that I don’t know what’s going on anymore.” 

“I promise,” Runaan says solemnly, “I swear by the Moon, that I will not be murdering that Sunfire elf. Now, please, if you follow me to the forge I promise this will all make sense.” 

“I’ll take myself to my own forge, thank you very much.” Ethari snips. He sets off at a determined pace, even scaling the stone steps of the smithy without slowing down. Runaan didn’t blame him though, he knows Ethari’s emotions have been all over like a drunken Moon Phoenix flight. 

By the time Runaan catches up to him, Ethari is relighting all of the torches on the walls. Runaan can see the residual glow of the forge from when Ethari left earlier that day. It’s funny, seeing the smithy in the firelight. All of his midnight adventures were completed under semi-darkness in case someone noticed lights flickering in the supposedly deserted forge and alerted a guard. Perhaps, Runaan thinks retrospectively, that’s why he so frequently burned himself. 

“So?” Ethari is standing in the middle of the smithy with his arms crossed. He’s donned an apron, perhaps out of habit (Runaan is very glad that Ethari takes his safety this seriously), and he’s looking around at all the unfinished weapons that are hanging on the walls. “No,” he mutters, almost under his breath, “you didn’t make any of these. That’s obvious enough.” 

Runaan bites his tongue; now is decidedly not the time to start bickering with him. “I wouldn’t have stored it up there,” Runaan says instead. He gestures to Ethari to follow him, and he leads his partner over to an open window that faces away from the center of the Silvergrove. In a flash, Runaan jumps onto the window ledge and swings his body gracefully through the opening. 

“Runaan—” 

He hears Ethari yelp his name, but doesn’t stop. His partner sticks his head outside the window, trying to see where he landed, but Runaan knows his current position is virtually undetectable from that angle. Well, at least one part of his plan worked as he meant it to. He lands louder than he needs to when his feet hit the roof so that Ethari can know where he is. Unfastening one of the straps on his side, he starts to walk carefully on the edge of the roof. The quiet tinkling of the unfastened strap hitting its metal fastener should be enough for Ethari to follow his movements if the smith listens carefully enough. When Runaan reaches the edge of the roof, he jumps and is sure to let his hands slide on the tree trunk so that Ethari knows he’s moved on. The rustle of leaves helps as he jumps between the branches until he reaches the very top of a sturdy tree. There, on one of the highest branches, he unhooks a package from its hiding place and, grateful that Ethari can’t see him, jumps all the way down to the window ledge in a move that surely would have earned him a passionate lecture about safety and unnecessary risks from his partner.

Perhaps he should have given Ethari a warning, because when he suddenly appears out of nowhere Ethari jumps so high he hits the back of his head against the top of the window frame. 

“You were hiding it at the top of a tree?” Ethari asks, rubbing the spot tenderly. 

“I needed to make sure you couldn’t find it,” Runaan says. He re-buckles his strap, tucks the wrapped package into his pocket, and approaches Ethari. When he runs his hands over the back of his head, he’s relieved to not feel a bump. 

“Runaan,” Ethari says, and he sounds exasperated, though Runaan thinks he can hear a tiny bit of fondness. 

They settle down at Ethari’s workbench, one on either side of the table. Once Runaan is situated, Ethari places both of his hands on the table with their palms up. “Show me,” he says. 

It’s all suddenly very real, Runaan realizes as he’s sliding the package out of his pocket. The gift he spent the past five weeks on and still hadn’t finished, the one that hurt Ethari so much, is heavy in his mind and light in his hand. The significance of setting it gently in Ethari’s upturned palms is not lost to him; he’s already given up the secrecy of his mission for Ethari’s happiness, something he should have done long ago. Whatever happened next was entirely in Ethari’s hands. 

He watches as Ethari feels the package without opening it, watches as his weary expression changes into curiosity. No matter how emotional he get,s Ethari is always an engineer, a creative inventor, and he never passes up an excuse to examine something interesting. 

“Just open it,” Runaan finally says when Ethari turns the unopened package over for the tenth time.

“Be patient,” Ethari tells him, and Runaan doesn’t have the heart to not be. Not when Ethari has given him more patience than he ever deserved. 

The unwrapping is a slow process because Ethari is the kind of elf who actually takes the time to admire whatever container a gift comes in and he always admonishes Runaan for slicing through wrappers too quickly. When Ethari finally peels off the outer layer he’s greeted with yet another layer. “I had to protect it from the rain,” Runaan explains. Then, “there’s going to be a few layers, Ethari.” 

“Is this your way of telling me you’re getting impatient again?” 

Runaan shuts up. 

As Ethari carefully unwinds lengths of twine and layers of cloth in his hands, the sounds of the objects inside are becoming more obvious. So are their shapes, and maybe Ethari notices this too because when he’s presented with the final layer that separates him from whatever’s inside, he rips the cloth in his haste. Runaan is watching his face. He sees professional curiosity turn into intrigue, into confusion, and finally into comprehension. 

“What,” Ethari whispers. The craftsman’s usually steady hands are trembling as they reach into the nest of cloth and pull out a pair of unadorned silver horn cuffs. His eyes are flicking between them and Runaan. After a few moments, his gaze settles on the elf across from him. “You made these?” 

Runaan offers him a tight smile. 

Ethari goes back to examining the cuffs. Even from here Runaan can see the mistakes and unfinished parts; the metal isn’t smooth yet and, most obviously, the ring on the front of each cuff is still incomplete. Ethari runs a finger over the cuffs, pausing to trace the empty oval outline. Runaan wants to tell him that they’re not done, but he’s sure that Ethari can tell. 

“How long—?” 

“The past five weeks.” 

“Five?” Ethari actually looks impressed. “This is not bad for five weeks, Runaan. I didn’t know you knew how to do… any of this, really.” 

Well… Runaan places his burnt hand on the table and offers Ethari a sheepish grin. When Ethari catches sight of the unsightly burn, he clicks his tongue.

“I couldn’t light up the torches,” Runaan cuts in before the other elf can admonish him. “It’s hard to avoid hot things in the dark, even if they are glowing.” 

Ethari laughs before he can stop himself. Remembering he’s supposed to be upset at Runaan’s disregard for his own safety, the smith schools his features into a stern (albeit amused) look. “You could have really hurt yourself,” he says. “Working with fire and molten metal is dangerous, Runaan, and it takes years of training—” 

“Or years of watching you,” Runaan says cheekily and he smiles at the resulting blush on his beloved’s cheeks. 

"Stop it, I’m trying to teach you a lesson,” Ethari huffs, and Runaan holds his hands up in surrender. “Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you really could have hurt yourself without the proper training, not to mention working in the dark! You’re lucky that this burn was all you got.” Then Ethari narrows his eyes and takes a good look at Runaan. “Or is it?” he asks, and the tone of voice tells Runaan he’s better off speaking the truth. 

“The medicinal herbs you’ve been smelling might have been from this,” Runaan mumbles. 

“ _Five weeks’ worth of injuries?_ ” Ethari exclaims, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Runaan!” 

“And I didn’t even finish,” Runaan groans. He gestures at the horn cuffs and grimaces. “They’re a mess.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Ethari threatens, cradling the cuffs to his chest and glaring at his partner. “Don’t you dare insult these. Someone special made these for me.” 

“That someone was so caught up in making a pair of horn cuffs for the love of his life that he neglected him.” 

A gentle hand covers his and he looks up to witness the softest smile he’s ever seen gracing Ethari’s lips. “Love of your life?” he asks quietly. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t have been able to tell with the way I’ve treated you,” Runaan says sincerely. “But you, Ethari, are the love of my life. As soon as I watched that elf interact with you I realized I wanted to—needed to, really—show the world that you’re mine forever. If you’ll have me.” He stares into Ethari’s eyes, looking for some kind of sign. 

When Ethari speaks, his voice is barely louder than a whisper. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

“I don’t know,” Runaan whispers back. “Last time you thought I was planning on murdering someone.” He grins and yanks his arm out of the way when an indignant Ethari moves to punch him. 

“Could you blame me though?” 

“No,” says Runaan, smiling now because Ethari’s also smiling and a weight he didn’t know he was bearing is starting to lift off of him. 

“Well.” Ethari swallows and grabs Runaan’s hands in his. “What I think you’re saying is that you want to be with me for as long as I’ll have you.” 

Runaan’s lips are suddenly very dry; it feels like he’s swallowed enough sand to bury all of the Silvergrove. Unable to speak, he resorts to a short, curt nod. 

Like the open book he is, Ethari’s face splits into a brilliant smile. “It’s a good thing I plan on having you for a very, very long time,” he whispers, and when he cradles Runaan’s face in his hands, Runaan can’t help but lean forward and capture his partner’s— _husband’s!_ —lips with his own.

It’s awkward, kissing over a table, but it’s sweet and safe and familiar, and Runaan is suddenly overwhelmed with how much he truly loves this elf. When they break apart, Ethari keeps one hand on Runaan’s face. “I’m glad you didn’t murder anyone for me,” he murmurs, interlocking the fingers on his free hand with Runaan’s. 

Runaan hums. “I used to think there were only two kinds of love: the kind you would kill for, and the kind you would die for.” Ethari rolls his eyes and Runaan kicks him under the table, never once letting go of their hands. “But you, my love,” he says, making sure Ethari is watching him as he says this, “you are the kind of love I would live for.” 

And even though Ethari doesn’t say anything, the look on his face says it all. 

***

“You were going to set a stone in these?” 

“That was the original plan,” Runaan admits. They’re lying in bed together, hands intertwined as they let the air of the dawn cool them down. Runaan shifts so that he’s staring straight at his husband, and takes it all in: the messy hair, the swollen lips, the bruises on his neck and chest that he’d been so eager to receive, and the horn cuffs that fit so snugly at the base of his horns—Ethari had insisted on wearing them as soon as they left the smithy, even if they weren’t finished. Moon above, he’s beautiful. 

“Where did you get stones from? You don’t like going out of the Silvergrove to buy things,” Ethari says accusingly. 

“That day at the market, actually. Right before you went to _that_ stall you were at one that was selling semi-precious stones. I found a pair that matched your eyes and I couldn’t not buy them.” He swallows. “When you came home today I was looking for them, but I seem to have misplaced them. A wise elf once told me I needed to sleep more, and I foolishly ignored him.” 

Ethari holds his gaze for a moment before chuckling. “Whoever this elf is, as your husband”—Runaan blushes—“I advise that you listen to them more.” 

Runaan hums and smiles. “I’m sorry I lost the stones,” he says, and he means it. No matter how much Ethari insists he likes them (and oh, does he _like_ them), it still bothers Runaan a bit that he lost the stones. “They would have matched your eyes perfectly.” 

He sees a glimmer of something, a spark of an idea, mere moments before Ethari springs up, nearly taking out Runaan’s eye with the tip of his horn. “We’re too alike,” Ethari says to a very confused Runaan, and walks over to the shelf, where he digs through his satchel. He comes back with a familiar black pouch and Runaan stares in shock as he empties its contents onto the bed. 

“I saw these and thought of your eyes,” Ethari tells him, and he places one of two brilliant turquoise stones into Runaan’s hand. 

“Oh,” says Runaan, and he has nothing else to say. He can’t say anything, because his throat has closed up and his heart feels like it’s trying to leap from his chest. 

“I know it bothers you that you haven’t accomplished what you set out to do, even though I already told you and will keep telling you that I think they’re perfect.” Ethari picks up the other stone and rolls it around in his fingers. “If you’ve lost yours, I’d like to put in mine. We could work on it together in the forge, if you want. That way… whenever I see my reflection I’ll be reminded that you’re always watching over me.” 

Runaan tugs on Ethari’s neck and kisses him, hard. “Yes,” Runaan whispers against his lips, “ _yes_.” 

*** 

He doesn’t bring it up because he doesn’t want Ethari to think he’s still worked up over it, but when Ethari suggests that they venture back to _that_ marketplace Runaan jumps at the opportunity. Ethari narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything, so Runaan’s in the clear.

It’s a beautiful day outside as they walk out of the Silvergrove. For once, Runaan is only slightly worried about bandits and thieves and refuses to let his cautiousness ruin the possibility of a lovely outing with his husband. He smiles to himself—it’s been almost half a year and the novelty of being able to call Ethari his husband still hasn’t worn off yet. According to Tiadrin, he’ll get used to it in about three more years.

The marketplace is just as crowded as Runaan remembers it, but he doesn’t let that phase him. “After you,” he says to Ethari, bending in a joking bow and sweeping his arms toward the entrance. Ethari rolls his eyes, but takes Runaan’s hand and leads him toward the first stall.

He hates to admit it, but the market is actually quite nice. Now that he doesn’t see every elf as a threat, he notices that they’re rather polite when they bump into him, and some even go out of their way to make space so that he and Ethari don’t have to let go of each other. Runaan appreciates those kinds of elves the most.

As they near the site of The Incident Runaan starts to get antsy. Ethari notices but doesn’t say anything, most likely dismissing his darting eyes as looking for danger.

Is the same elf here? It’s been half a year and the Sunfire elf could have very easily moved on. But his gaze falls on the Earthblood elf who sold him (and Ethari, funnily enough) a pair of precious stones that matched his husband’s eyes, and he looks across the street.

 _Oh_ _yes._

There he is, still dressed in that outfit with the shiny gold thread, selling the same wares. Runaan doesn’t want to make a scene by running that way, so he tries to subtly guide Ethari to that side of the busy street. This time, the crowd works to his advantage; he “dodges” incoming elves by darting to their left and dragging Ethari behind him, until that tent is right in front of them.

“Oh, look at that,” Runaan says in what he hopes is an innocent tone. “Such shiny metals, _Ethari_!”

The Sunfire elf perks up and raises his eyes from where he was jotting something down in his notebook. His golden eyes fall on Ethari first, and he smiles in recognition.

“Ethari, hello,” he greets cordially like they’re old friends.

Ethari, who’s still a bit dazed from being pulled through a crowd, just blinks. “Oh,” he says in surprised delight when he notices the Sunfire elf approaching him. “ _Oh_ ,” he says when he realizes what Runaan has done. He turns to glare at the assassin, but finds that Runaan has taken several steps to the left and is pretending to examine one of the “shiny metals.”

“It’s been so long, Ethari,” the Sunfire elf purrs, stepping right up to him. “Why haven’t you come back to visit?”

“Yes, well, it’s been a busy few months.” Ethari is very aware of his husband watching them interact. “How are you?”

“Much better now that you’ve shown up, handsome,” the elf says with a teasing smile. His molten eyes are sweeping up and down Ethari’s body appreciatively ( _oh_ , thinks Ethari, _he really was flirting with me_ ). When his eyes sweep up for the third time, the vendor finally notices the horn cuffs. Runaan expects him to back off immediately, but the Sunfire elf only presses forward. “Ethari,” he whines, and he has the audacity to pout and press a hand to Ethari’s chest. “You didn’t tell me you were _married_ …”

And that’s Runaan’s cue. He strolls up behind Ethari and casually slings an arm—that just happens to be holding his bowblade—around his husband’s shoulders. “Moonlight, who’s this?” he asks sweetly.

He can see Ethari trying (and failing, judging by the twinkle in his eyes) to glare at him, though for the moment he’s more concerned with the Sunfire elf’s reaction. The elf’s eyes widen when he takes in Runaan’s clothes (he purposefully wore his assassin’s uniform knowing it would be universally recognized among Xadians), the bowblade, and the unadorned silver cuffs at the base of his horns. Runaan can almost see the exact moment when the Sunfire elf makes the connection.

“Oh,” the Sunfire elf chokes out. He immediately takes a step back from Ethari and wipes his hand on his robes. “This must be your h-husband,” the elf says, avoiding looking at the assassin. Runaan has to give him credit; were he any other elf he might not have noticed how badly the Sunfire vendor’s hands were shaking.

“It was a recent thing,” Ethari says. He’s given up on trying to look stern and has adopted an amused smirk.

“About six months ago,” Runaan tells the intimidated vendor. “It’s a funny story actually, we were at this exact marketplace—“

“For a date,” Ethari interjects with a mischievous grin. Oh good, he’s decided to play along too.

“Yes, you’re right, it was for a date! I’d nearly forgotten. So, here we are on this date, when a series of events happen that really don’t need recounting right now, but essentially right here is where I realized I wanted to marry him.” Runaan gives Ethari the sappiest look he can conjure up and Ethari chokes while trying to suppress his own laughter.

“That’s… nice,” the Sunfire elf offers.

“It is,” Runaan agrees, giving Ethari one last nuzzle before turning to face the vendor. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of someone not knowing he was mine and thinking they had a chance.”

“Not that something like that would ever happen,” Ethari says.

“Of course not. And what better way to show the world he’s mine than to gift him a pair of cuffs?” Runaan finally lets his act drop—the fake smile, the happy voice, all of it—and the Sunfire vendor goes pale. “You know,” Runaan says in a quieter voice so that only Ethari and the vendor can hear him. “Usually when an interested party sees that someone’s cuffed they back off. And yet…”

He lets his voice trail off, electing to raise an eyebrow instead. The message gets across though, and the vendor falls horns over heels apologizing to Runaan and Ethari separately, and Runaan and Ethari as an entity.

It only takes a minute before the Sunfire elf’s voice starts grating on Runaan’s ears, and he pulls Ethari away from the booth before the vendor can start kissing their boots.

They’re at least three booths away when Ethari finally addresses him. “Really?”

Runaan can’t help his satisfied grin. “That felt good,” he informs his husband. “You can’t deny that felt good.”

Ethari shakes his head and laughs. “I can’t believe I didn’t catch what you were trying to do until it was too late. I also can’t believe that he saw my cuffs and—“

“And used it as an invitation to get closer to you?” Runaan snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Exactly. At first I thought you were just trying to scare him for yourself, but I guess really he deserved seeing you in all your frightening glory.”

Runaan smiles and presses a kiss to Ethari’s forehead. “I couldn’t agree more, my love. I could not agree more.”

**Author's Note:**

> a really sweet song that I think describes Runaan and Ethari's relationship well is "This Promise" by Sam Tsui and Casey Breves-- it's their wedding song and they're both such talented singers :') the wedding video is also gorgeous so if you haven't heard or seen it, go check it out and lmk if you can see it as a Runaan/Ethari song!
> 
> this fic was inspired by:
> 
> Person D: [flirts with B]  
> Person A: [staring at them silently]  
> Person C: You’re really quiet today, A.  
> Person A: [still staring] Nobody plans a murder out loud.  
> (from @some-textposts on tumblr)
> 
> "You should sleep.” - “I’m not human, therefore, I do not require sleep” (from tumblr user @connorshero)
> 
> “I only ever thought there were two kinds of love: The kind you would kill for, and the kind you would die for…but you, my darling, you were the kind of love I would live for" (from tumblr user @connorshero)
> 
> anyway, I'm having a grand old time turning some of my favorite headcanons into fics! feel free to share yours with me, I'm always happy to be inspired :)
> 
>  _come say hi on[tumblr](https://toesalignedarch.tumblr.com/)!_ :)


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